Fantasy and Reality
by TeenWriterKimba
Summary: My reality is dark and cruel and hopeless. That is all the world will ever have for me. There is no salvation for a twisted creature like me...or is there? Erik/Meg.


So I am working on the rest of Marry the Night but this little bunny grabbed me and wouldn't let go in the middle of watching Phantom of the Opera. I know that similar ideas have been done to death in the fandom but I hope you enjoy my slightly different take on it. Enjoy!

PS I don't own them, I just make them do my bidding.

Fantasy and Reality

I did not expect to bring her down to my dark palace tonight. I did not expect to bring her down here ever. But here she is and I have no idea what to do with her. She is enchanted with me, her Angel and teacher, as she should be- just as I am enchanted with her. She is somehow even more stunning in person. I dare to dream as she lies in my bed. I dare to wonder that she might stay here forever.

I compose for her as she sleeps, longing to hear her voice sing my dark melodies like no other songbird can. She will be my muse and my music and my love. Just as soon as she awakens. She will be mine forever. Fancy boys will be nothing to her but forgotten daydreams. I will be her only fantasy.

A light splashing interrupts my inner monologue. Has she awakened? Does my love, my light, my Angel stir and long for me? Does she long for the surface world? I whip around so fast that I nearly fall off of my bench. But my love sleeps soundly. There is another.

The blond girl. Damn her. I always knew there was something too clever about Madame Giry's little girl. There were many reasons why I chose Christine as my ingénue, but just as many of them were reasons to not choose the other little girl easily within my grasp-Meg, that was her name. She had been exploring my vast kingdom since she could barely walk and probably would have mapped the whole thing, my chambers and all, had her mother not warned her away when she discovered her little girl's pursuits. She knew too much. She saw too much. And now she had damned well found my private quarters.

And she was staring at me. Not with fear. Not with loathing. Not even with pity. Not really with anything I was used to seeing on the faces of those unlucky enough to lay eyes on me. She didn't even appear enraptured like her best friend. She simply looked like she was expecting something. And it was starting to make me distinctly uncomfortable.

"Yes, what is it you want?" I ask, trying to keep my composure together. Perhaps she will come to her senses and scramble away in fear like she should.

She steps closer, making her way up the first few steps to my perch. Perhaps she will not.

"Who are you? What are you? Truly? I have heard the tales from wild and vile impersonators. I know the talk. I also know what my mother claims about you. I know what she has done for you and what you have done for her. But now that I see you, I know that I know nothing," she says, her usual light and musical voice far stronger than I would have expected her capable of. Her queries should make me angry, but they do not. I feel I am finally meeting with a capable adversary, rather than a two-bit fool. I realize suddenly that I have been both dreading and anticipating this encounter for a long time.

"Do not pretend you come here seeking answers. You know there are none to be found. I am no thing and no one. But you know that already. What is your true purpose in my domain?" I say, trying to conjure up my most booming and threatening 'Phantom' voice. I hardly want to scare the slip of a girl, but she is damn near beginning to scare me and that is entirely unacceptable.

She is entirely unfazed. "Fine. I was simply trying to be pleasant. I am here for her, of course." Of course. Of course, of course, of course. The one shining ray of hope, the one bright spot in my entire miserable existence, and someone has to come and take it away. Put out my only remaining light. Well, I'll hardly descend back down into Hell without a fight.

"You do not want to contest me. It will not end well for you. I have killed women younger than you before for much less. I will not show leniency simply because you are _her_ daughter," I nearly growl at her. My hand begins to search nearly unconsciously for the rope I keep within arms reach at all times. I feel a near twinge of remorse over the prospect of snuffing out one so bright and kind but I will not risk my last chance.

She holds up her palms and begins to back away, surprise, but still no fear, entering her eyes for the first time. But still her voice is strong as she speaks, "Oh, please! I don't mean to fight you. I know very well your talents in that respect and I would never dare to challenge one so skilled. I merely wish to offer you something in trade for her safe return to the surface."

I pause in my search. It is my turn to be surprised now. What in the world could this meek creature think she could possibly possess that would move me to return her friend? "I do not long for material objects, nor wealth, nor power. I have all I could ever want but her. What in the world do you think you have to offer me in return?" I ask, quite curious for once in my life.

"Me," she says, simply and openly. This time, I do fall off of my bench. When I right myself, nearly indignant at her audacity, she is doing something that at first I do not understand. Then I realize I have observed this kind of behavior, just have never before instilled it. She is _laughing_. I cannot decide whether to be more or less angry at her gall.

"I highly doubt you mother would approve of this venture," I say pretentiously, settling for an air of superiority rather than rage. The situation seems far too absurd for anger now. Her entire manner sobers in an instant, and if I didn't know any better I would almost say that _she_ had become a little angry with me.

"I also highly doubt my mother would approve of my being a lead ballerina, or sneaking out of the opera to see the world, or sleeping with a patron. And yet I have done all of these things. I am very nearly a fully-grown woman. My mother no longer has a say in the choices I do or do not make," she says, and for the first time I really see the Antoinette in her. She is every bit as fiery as her mother, and about a million times more sharp. She is not a woman to be messed with. I very nearly find myself considering her offer.

"And just what makes you think that you would make an equal substitute for her? She is many things that you are not," I say, hoping to wound her pride and crack her fearlessness.

But still she does not waver. "And I, monsieur, am many things that she is not. I am no Angel, but then again neither are you. Are you sure you really want to continue on this path to corrupt and destroy an innocent girl? You'll very likely destroy her life, your life, and this very Opera house in the process. She may have an enchanting voice, but there is far more to a woman than that," she says, quite matter-of-factly. It leaves me steaming but I cannot argue with her logic. I knew that I had set both Christine and myself on a destructive path. I just did not realize until this moment that there was anyone left who still cared.

I do not say anything, but rather turn myself back to the piano. This is all too much. This is all so much more than I had expected of tonight. Her footsteps are so light that I do not realize she has approached until her light hand grazes my shoulder. I shudder in response, so unused to being touch, but she does not seem repulsed. If anything, my deep hesitation emboldens her, and her fingers lightly trail along my mask. I do not feel anything because I am feeling far too many conflicting emotions at once.

"I do not claim to love you, but neither does she. What you mistake for love is simply adulation and entrancement, nothing more. Her love for you is no more real than your so-called 'angelic nature'," she says quietly. Her words so enflame my anger and hatred that I am surprised I do not reach out to strike her before she even finishes. But her next words cease all logical thought to my brain. "You don't really love her. You just want love so desperately, so obsessively that you hope enchanting her might bring you love. But it isn't real and neither is your love for her. She will never love you. But I think I could, given enough time. " She speaks of love like she understands. Part of me long buried cries out to latch on immediately to this offer of affection. But a larger part remains suspicious. I do not trust this clever little minx. Still I remain silent.

"And, perhaps most importantly, she still believes you to be an angel, a phantom, a figment of her imagination. You are as unreal to her as a fairy tale. But I know you to be a man, whatever time and cruelty has twisted you into. And I am hardly naïve as to what it is that men truly love," she says, and I cannot comperhend. There is just too much to feel, to think through, to decide. She is offering me something I have wanted for so long but never dared to dream of. She is offering me reality. It would be nearly impossible to turn down such an offer.

And then she shatters everything with the lightest of feather kisses to my jawline, and then one to the very lowest point of my mask. Everything within me that was solid previously crumbles. What has this girl done to me?

"You were right before. I did know what you are. I suppose the real question is, do you dare to find out who I truly am?" When I finally look up, she has left my side and is lounging on my throne with a look like a cat that ate all of the cream. She knows I am lost. She knows everything. Do I dare?

She can even see the lingering indecision in my face, goddamn her. "I'll tell you what. Test me now. I know you don't trust me and that you don't want to believe a word of this. So try me. It's the only way you'll know. Bring her back to the surface world. They need her there. Then come back. I'll still be waiting for you. And that's how you'll know."

Finally, my voice nearly cracking with repressed emotion, I speak, "And if you aren't here waiting for me when I return?"

Her face carries an intensity that I can hardly comprehend. "That's the chance you have to take," she says. I watch her for a long moment, trying to calculate her every intention and manipulation. Could it be that I chose the wrong child all those years ago? Could my one salvation truly be a clever and brave blond creature rather than my naïve brunette angel?

Finally, I give her a single, resigned nod. I cannot afford to miss another opportunity. I have squandered so many. I move swiftly to the bedroom and lift the still sleeping Christine from my bed, taking one last moment to ponder over her beauty. But somehow this feels right. I never wanted to destroy her. It simply felt like my final option.

I do not look at Meg as I lay Christine gently in the boat. I do not look at her as I push the boat away from shore. I do not look back as we pass through the gates and around the corner, moving further and further away. My trust is new and fragile, but it is all I have left to offer.

After I return her to her bed, allowing her to think it was all a dream, I make the journey back to my quarters as slowly as possible. As much as it burns, I want to relish the feeling of anticipation and nervousness and hope as much as I can. It may be the last time I ever feel them. It may be the last time I ever feel anything. I know this trust could very well destroy me. I know it very well may. But gods above how I want it all the same.

I feel as if I may explode as I round the corner to my lair once again. This is the moment that may very well define my life someday, as euphoric or agonizing. As the gates arise in front of me, I swiftly search the various stairs and alcoves for her. Nothing. I dock the boat and frantically search more thoroughly but still she is nowhere to be found. My lair is as empty as my heart, which is quite literally consuming me. I don't know if I have ever felt so betrayed, and I have been betrayed so many times.

I should have known it was all just a trap. No one would ever willingly offer to spend a life with my darkness and me. I was a fool to be taken in by kind words and womanly advances. She was simply using my vulnerability to save her friend. How could I have been so deceived?

In the morning I know that I will vow eternal vengeance against her and all that she loves. But for now, all I want to do is stew and ache until the constant emptiness and pain ebb once again. I have lost people before, sometimes even more rapidly than her. I have known sorrow and betrayal a million times over. How could one clever girl cut me so deeply in so little time?

With anguish and loathing still festering deep within my breast, I slowly draw back the curtains to my bed, hoping to allow it to lull me to sleep as it has so many times before. But then everything is blank once again because she is there. Waiting for me. Just as she said.

She was sleepily lazing but begins to stir as I stand there in a state of utter shock. She cannot be here. She cannot be real. Everyone leaves me. Everyone disappoints me. She cannot be so different. But now her eyes are beginning to adjust and oh dear lord she is smiling at me. I don't know if anyone has ever smiled at me like that before.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make it back," she says, sleepiness making her voice much more light and airy. "I've been waiting. Come join me?"

I do not know what I will do in the morning. I do not know what the rest of my life will be like now. But just for this night, this moment, I am going to lie down beside a woman who thinks she could love me one day. And I am going to allow myself to trust that this is real. And I am going to be far happier than I had ever dared to imagine.


End file.
